


Ghost of a Good Thing

by musiclily88



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Angst, Hogwarts, M/M, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 17:05:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musiclily88/pseuds/musiclily88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry asked Louis to the Yule Ball only to find out he had already invited someone else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghost of a Good Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Every fandom needs as many Hogwarts AUs as possible, right?
> 
> I don't even know, man, Just. I'm sorry.

“What’s wrong?” Louis yelled, genuinely perplexed. He rushed toward Harry, backing his legs into the low red sofa in his common room.

_“You know what’s wrong, you tosser!”_ Harry shoved him, and if Harry was actually resorting to common muggle _shoving,_ something was decidedly wrong. Louis loved every piece of Harry, of course he did—that was the problem, he knew—but he rarely saw this angry version of him, the side of him that had narrowed eyes and an angry set to his jaw. Something was _wrong._

“I don’t understand!”

“Yes you do!”

Louis was good with Harry, he was very good, but he wasn’t perfect, much as he liked to fool himself into thinking he was. And, true, he had known Harry since childhood, and they had toddled around together while their parents sipped tea and discussed recent Ministry foibles and disasters. They had grown up alongside one another, throwing themselves on and off broomsticks, jumping into freezing lakes, stealing their parents’ wands when they hoped no one was looking. Louis knew Harry and he always had.

Sure, Louis was two years Harry’s senior and they hadn’t even been sorted into the same house (Harry was in Gryffindor, honestly, it was practically an affront to Louis’ intense Slytherin honor) but they had stayed close, always. Louis would never abandon Harry. Not ever.

Not even if it meant hiding in plain sight sometimes, about shagging in dark corners and sneaking about in early hours. They were friends and just a little bit more, and that was it, that was enough. Louis knew, he knew it all. Because he knew Harry.

Louis knew the way Harry’s cheeks pinked up when they kissed, just like he knew Harry had trouble staying quiet no matter how likely they were to get caught. Louis _knew_ him.

But he had no idea why Harry was yelling at him. Not now.

They were friends and they had always been friends, and kissing or screwing wasn’t doing anything to change that. Louis wouldn’t let anything change their relationship, not ever. Louis needed Harry.

“Explain it,” Louis begged, eyes wide and bright. “Please.”

“I ask you to the Yule Ball and all you have to say is _oh sorry I already asked El,_ like that’s a good fucking explanation? Really? And you don’t get it.”

“Do you not like El? I thought you two got along pretty well.” Louis furrowed his brow.

“She’s fine. That’s not—she’s fine.”

“What the fuck, then?” Louis asked, crowding into Harry angrily. Harry shoved him, and he shoved back, finally reaching some kind of breaking point. He pressed his hips against Harry’s, moved their chests flush, shoved their lips together until he saw stars. 

He thought he might draw blood with the way he clashed their lips together, with the way he bit down and refused to let go. He sank his teeth into Harry’s bottom lip. Hearing Harry gasp against the sting, he smiled into their bruising kiss.

And without warning, he retreated. “Then what do you want from me?” He kept his hips flush against Harry’s, kept their waists in line, shoved their groins together. He refused to let up for a single moment.

“Why,” Harry began, nipping his teeth into Louis’ jawbone before moving along his neck, “didn’t you ask _me.”_

“Oh,” Louis breathed, his chest hitching. He closed his eyes. “I thought—”

“Shut up.” He backed Louis into the sofa—the Gryffindor common room sofa, honestly—and forced him onto his back, dropping onto Louis’ lap. He ground their pelvises together, forcing himself downward _forward_ into Louis’ lap.

They were friends, Louis tried to reminds himself, even if that friendship meant fucking and coming and the beautiful kind of afterglow that Louis associated with lying in a canopy bed surrounded by red curtain. Even if it meant setting a silencing spell on the fabric because Harry was, above all things, loud as Merlin allowed. And Louis liked it.

He liked everything about Harry, even if he was a fucking Gryffindor and had a stupid sense of nobility that Louis associated with children and martyrs. Regardless, _regardless_ he was devastating in bed, absolutely remorseless. It coincided with Louis’ deep-seated humiliation kink that mostly only Harry knew about, at this point. Because Harry knew nearly everything. 

Nearly. Not quite everything.

 

“I thought you didn’t want to go.”

“I said shut up.” He clapped a hand over Louis’ mouth without preamble, thumbing open the fly of his trousers. Yanking Louis’ cock out over the top of the waistband of his pants, he wanked him roughly. He watched Louis’ eyes go dark with anger and bit his lip over a smile.

Harry caged Louis’ legs closer, clamping their bodies together just below Louis’ pelvis. He twisted his fist and felt Louis tense, closing his eyes.

“If this is all I am to you, well. I’m gonna get it done right, yeah?” Louis’ eyes flew open and he tried to shake his head, but Harry just pressed down harder with his open palm. “Yeah? If I’m just a slut who’s always up for an easy lay, well, then. Might as well get to it.”

He felt Louis’ chest rumble beneath him and he clenched down harder on the cock in his hands. “Hold still.” Harry arched his back slightly and spat onto his hand and Louis’ dick simultaneously. Forcing the slickness underneath his hand, he twisted his wrist again, hearing Louis breathe a small moan.

“Getting close, aren’t you?” Harry ground down with his hips, stilling his hand against Louis’ dick. Harry laughed at the frustration visible in Louis’ eyes before unbuttoning his own jeans and shoving down his pants a bit. Then he took both their cocks in his one hand, pumping up and down raggedly inside his large fist.

Louis pushed up from the sofa slightly, making Harry frown. “Hold still.” He pressed down with his thighs, pinning Louis with his hand and his hips and his shins. He whined slightly, lips pressed desperately against Harry’s palm.

Harry leaned in and attached his teeth to Louis’ jaw, biting down hard enough to bruise. He pulled back to admire his handiwork, still moving his fist up and down around their joined pricks.

Louis struggled slightly, trying to rut up into Harry’s hand. “Stop it.” He pressed down harder, dropping his shoulders slightly in order to pin Louis down. “Getting close, yeah? You feel a little tense, there.” He arched a brow, clenching his jaw angrily. “Have you two fucked yet, yeah?” Louis’ eyes widened, brows hidden by his fringe. “Did you think of me when you came?” He narrowed his eyes at that, obviously angry.

He could have forced himself out of Harry’s grip with minimal effort, but he didn’t. Instead he let Harry duck his head back down to the tan column of Louis’ throat, sucking in a blackberry-dark bruise, marking him enthusiastically. Louis writhed under Harry’s rough administrations, angry that he was still pinned down.

He tugged harder and twisted, snapping his wrist neatly. Louis came with a growl, spurting messily over Harry’s cock and fist and onto his own chest. With the added slickness and the harsh way Louis was breathing, Harry came quickly after, riding them both through their climax with a closed fist.

They stilled simultaneously, Harry belatedly removing his hand from Louis’ mouth. Louis shoved against Harry’s torso, dislodging both their bodies from the cushions. “Am I allowed to talk now, twat?” Louis asked, tucking himself back into his trousers before muttering a cleaning charm to get rid of the spunk on his chest.

Harry shrugged, fixing his own clothing and cleaning himself up. “Not all that interested in what you have to say, to be honest.” He headed toward the staircase that led to the dormitories without a backward glance.

“Bloody Gryffindors and your bloody fucking honor,” Louis muttered. “There’s a reason, you know!” he called next.

“Yeah?” Harry stopped at the foot of the steps, shoulders tense. “What, that you don’t want to go to a dance with a bloke in front of the whole school? Worried someone will talk about you?”

“Worried that everyone will whisper about what the fuck you’re doing with me, you mean. Darling Prefect, Potions prodigy, best-looking in his whole damn year. Slumming it just because you feel sorry for me and didn’t have the heart to say no,” Louis spat, stalking closer to Harry with a murderous gaze.

“So I asked El because she’s a friend and I thought it might be nice to have something to distract me from you looking beautiful and being fucking oblivious that everyone’s hitting on you and trying to get you to love them. Pardon me if I’m not so much of a fucking masochist as to want to go alone.”

Harry didn’t turn round. “What is this to you?” he murmured, back muscles tense.

“What?”

“You seem to think you’ve made it clear you’re just in this for a fuck. But I didn’t think that’s what this was, yeah?”

“I don’t understand.”

Harry whirled around, face closed-off and dangerous. “You’re telling me you had no idea I’ve been in love with you since—since probably forever, really, since I met you? And I don’t even remember meeting you, do I.” He surged forward, pressing their chests together with an angry snort.

“Stop it.” Louis shook his head, backing up, trying to get away from Harry’s rage.

“Stop what? Telling you the fucking truth?”

“Stop lying to me.”

“I’m not fucking lying! For the once I’m telling you—explicitly telling you—how I feel, you arse, I love you and I thought what we were doing was good—I thought it wasn’t just a fuck, all right? I thought you felt the same. Until today. Until what, a bloody hour ago when you told me you _asked out some girl.”_

“Because you don’t—because I thought you—because you’re too much, too good! You’re just too good and I can’t make you love me because I’m just _me!_ And that’s not enough for you!”

Harry shoved his chest forward, crowding them both backward until they collided with an overstuffed chair. “I have never, ever done anything but love you. Do you not get that? All of my memories include you and everything I do is influenced by _you._ And you discounted that like it meant nothing.”

_“I didn’t know.”_ Louis pressed forward, his shoulders hitting Harry’s chest abruptly. “I didn’t know.”

“Is it so wildly unlikely that I love you? That I thought we were in this for forever?”

“No,” Louis faltered, swallowing so his Adam’s apple bobbed. “I just. I didn’t dare to hope it, even. Because you’re too much.” He shrugged, feeling the hard press of the chair into the back of his knees.

“And what are you?” Harry continued to crowd forward, pressing his body into Louis’ own.

“Not enough.”

“How dare you,” Harry fumed, surging forward as much as he could into the little space between their bodies. “How dare you think so little of yourself.”

Louis thrust forward, hitting his hips into Harry’s. “Stop it. You don’t love me. You’re just pissed I turned you down.”

Harry shoved his shoulders again, backing him against the chair again. “I love you all the time, you fucking cunt. I love you when I’m angry, when I’m twatted, when I’m tired, when I’m elated. You’re the first person I go to when I have something to say. You listen to me like you’d _die_ if I stopped talking. You’re amazing and you put up with me at my most annoying. You’re brilliant and hilarious and you’re so goddamn gorgeous, all right? I love you even right now, when you’re so infuriating I can’t see straight. I just love you. So shut the fuck up before you insult me further, you condescending prick.”

He reached out to grab Louis’ hair, yanking his head back roughly before he latched onto Louis’ neck with his teeth and lips. Pulling off, he added, “I hate that you think so little of yourself because you’re my beginning and end, Lou. You’re it.” He shoved his fingers into Louis’ hips, pressing down with bruising force.

Louis sucked in a deep breath. “But you’re so—so good, so much. Too amazing for your own fucking good.”

“And I love you.”

“I just—”

“I love _you,_ Lou. You and only you and always you.”

“I just don’t understand.”

“So don’t question it. Just let me love you, Lou. Because I can’t stop.”

So Louis let Harry crowd into him, shoving their bodies downward again, let his back fall onto the fabric of the chair as Harry pressed their lips together in reconciliation. He let himself be loved, even if he didn’t understand it.


End file.
